


Senses Blurred

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, implied alcoholism, implied wincest, post 9x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam hates watching Dean drink alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses Blurred

The crack of the seal comes early, comes just as Sam's slipping through the hallway and avoiding the kitchen and trying to tell himself it's not on purpose. But now it's six in the morning or near enough and Dean is still drinking for the record. Sam burns through the mountain of rationalizations faster than usual. Dean is a grown man, if he wanted help he'd ask for it, he can make his own choices even if they are wrong, it isn't Sam's business, and on and on and on until Sam's standing in the kitchen doorway staring at his brother, wrapped in shadows and whiskey.

Sam doesn't say anything, just walks past the table for a clean glass, sets it down and takes the empty chair. Dean doesn't say anything either, barely looks up from his laptop, grabs the fresh bottle and splashes two fingers in Sam's glass. And no one says anything. It's all dim laptop light and caught glances and quiet drinking and they're on to round two too fast.

Sam opens his mouth and Dean cuts him off right away. “You here to drink or to talk?” And his eyes look too dark, evergreen and sad and Sam smiles tight with his mouth closed, raises his glass in a mock toast.

In an hour, they're sprawled on the floor, nestled up under the table for no reason that either one can remember. The whiskey is not gone, but they forgot it up above, didn't want to move to get it. There's a movie droning on from the computer stacked on a pile of books so they can see it better. Sam isn't paying attention to it, Sam's got Dean tucked up beside him, got his big hand slipping restlessly through Dean's hair. Sam's head is all buzzy and he isn't _ready_ for this, for all the familiar Dean-smells, unavoidable now, for the perfect close heat of Dean jammed up against him. This wasn't supposed to happen like this.

And he's going to move, really, clenching his jaw hard for the courage, taking a breath to steel himself and slip away but then Dean  relaxes against him, sags all his tired limbs into Sam. He's asleep; it's been a long time but Sam still knows what Dean looks like – feels like – when he's out. And it's 7am and they're drunk and no one is talking and they could have hashed it all out in the time it took to get here but Sam doesn't care and it's nice not to care for a minute, for an hour, just for a little while while he wraps himself around Dean and tries not to make excuses. 

He fails miserably, passing his hand over Dean's hair, pressing his lips against his brother's forehead, muttering, “Couldn't let you drink alone, is all.” but knowing that's not it.


End file.
